Playlist
by Chanooa
Summary: This is a bunch of fluffy one shots based off of songs. Each one has a different pairing Danny/Derek, Scott/Stiles, Jackson/Danny, Scott/Jackson, Scott/Derek, Derek/Stiles .
1. The Gambler

"Derek?" Danny called. His voice echoed in the dark woods, bouncing off of the barren trees. Dead leaves crunched beneath his black sneakers as he slowly walked in circles, looking for the wolf. He put his hands in the pockets of his red jacket, shivering in the cooling autumn air. "Derek, are you here?"

He stood for a moment, confused as he looked through the mass of thin trees, still unable to find Derek. The sun was rapidly setting, making the world brilliant in hues of red and coral. Suddenly, a figure appeared in the distance, walking towards him. "Am I gonna have to call the cops? This is private property," the figure called out. In the brilliant red light, the boy could make out a familiar leather jacket adorning the figure.

Danny smiled, remembering the first time he'd ever met Derek. They had been standing in this exact same spot. He'd gotten lost while wandering through the woods, trying to clear his head. Derek had warned him that he was on private property, and Danny explained his predicament. The man had shown him out of the forest, and they'd talked as they left. Since then, Danny made a point of getting lost in the forest more often. Derek came closer, smiling with Danny, his vicious teeth glowing red in the ruddy light. "Hey," Danny said, laughing a bit. "So you texted? Why did you want to meet me here?"

Derek's face turned serious, though the humor had not left his eyes altogether. "I have something important to tell you," he said, gruffly. They stood in silence for a moment as the wolf tried to gather his courage.

"Well, what is it? I haven't got all day to stand in the woods playing little red riding hood and the big bad wolf," Danny said, feeling bad as he noticed that the joke sounded impatient. "I mean, uh, sorry, that sounded kind of-"

"I love you," Derek said, interrupting the boy. He looked into Danny's warm brown eyes, an earnest look of vulnerability on his face. The human boy stood in the rosy light, his breath billowing in clouds as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. He'd never seen such a look of heartbreaking honesty on the usually stoic wolf's face.

"Are you sure?" Danny asked, unable to believe that the moment he'd fantasized aobut was coming true. Derek replied by bringing his body closer, hugging the boy as he pressed their lips together. Danny leaned into the man, his body melting as his hands rested on the shoulders of the leather coat. Stubble scraped his chin. They pulled apart, looking at one another. "I love you, too."

Derek smiled, an earnest, happy smile, totally devoid of the usual menace. "Come on," he said, taking Danny by the hand. Together, they walked in the darkening sunlight to the top of a small hill. Danny had never seen this particular part of the forest. He gawked at the sight below: at the bottom of the little hill, the entire forest floor was covered in a sheet of blue flowers. The tiny blooms contrasted brilliantly against the red sunlight, making it look as if they were glowing. The bluebells stretched across a huge span of the forest, covering the ground and around trees almost further than Danny's eyes could make out.

"Wow, Derek," Danny said, still in awe at the beautiful sight.

"My mom spent years trying to get these to grow," Derek said wistfully. "Eventually, she managed to get the conditions just right so that they'd bloom here at least once a year. Now they won't stop growing. The field gets bigger every year."

Derek smiled, taking Danny's hand again. He led him down the little hill, into the carpet of flowers. Together, they walked through the bluebells, the tiny blossoms dancing as their feet brushed past them. At one point, a hidden rock interrupted Danny's path, making him fall to the ground. Derek knelt down, concern on his face as he asked the boy if he was okay. Danny laughed, smiling up at the lycan's serious face. "I'm fine," he said, laughing. He pulled Derek's arm, so that they were both lying in the field, staring up at the sky as it turned from red to purple.

"You know, my mom kind of did this as a love note to my dad," Derek said as they looked up at the stars as they slowly revealed themselves. Danny rolled his head over to look at Derek. "He brought her some bluebells from a neighbor's garden on their first date. When they got back to his house, the police were there, investigating. Apparently, they were award-winning bluebells. From then on, they were always sort of a thing between my parents."

Danny smiled at the story. "That's beautiful," he said. Derek looked at his eyes. He stood suddenly, smiling. He yanked Danny up by his arms, and held him close. He began swaying, and eventually started dancing with the boy in his arms. Together, they danced among the flowers, the tiny plants swaying with them as they moved together, waltzing in the moonlight.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"Derry, I told you not to do that in public!" Derek scolded his daughter, turning around in the front seat to look at the girl. Her eyes flashed blue for a moment in protest. "Listen, that's dangerous."

"But I had to save him! I don't exactly have a lot of friends, and I don't want the few that I have getting the crap beat out of them while I watch," Derry said, crossing her arms and pouting like a true sixteen year old.

"Yes, but you know that you could seriously hurt someone if you lose control!" Derek said, his face getting red.

"I don't think they'd actually hurt Sam," Danny Jr. said sleepily, resting his head against the window of the car. The girl rolled her eyes at her younger brother's naïveté.

"What's the point of being a werewolf if I can't even help a friend?" Derry mumbled angrily, hiding her face behind her long blonde hair. "I bet my real parents would have let me."

"Which is exactly why you're not with them anymore," Derek said hotly. "They were too open with their powers, and the hunters found them. Do you want the same to happen to you?"

The air hung heavily in the car. As Danny set a hand gently on Derek's knee, the wolf realized that, in an effort to impress the severity of the situation on his daughter, he'd crossed a line. As his pulse returned to normal, Derek began to feel guilty.

"If I were a werewolf, I don't think I'd need to help anyone. Can't you just… reason with people?" Jr. said, yawning as he closed his eyes.

The rest of the car ride was silent. When they finally got back to the renovated Hale house, Danny silently got out of the car and went around to the back, picking up Jr. and carrying him into the house. Derek got out and began to make his way to the house when he noticed that his daughter was not with them. He went back to the car and opened her door. She looked up at him, her hair parting to reveal her face. Her father now saw the tears streaking down her red face. "I don't want the hunters to kill me like my parents," Derry cried.

Derek wrapped her in a hug, her head resting against his chest as she sobbed. She breathed in the familiar scent of his leather jacket, feeling comforted. Though she was far too young at the time to remember her biological parents, Derek and Danny never hid the fact that her parents had given her to them just before they were hunted down. "Don't worry honey," Derek said, kissing the top of her head. "I'll protect you. I'll protect all of you, because we're family. If any hunters come anywhere near us, I'll rip their throats out with my teeth."

Derry looked up at her dad. "I'm sorry that I lost my temper," she said. "I'll be more careful. I won't throw anyone else through a wall."

Derek smiled, and kissed her again on the forehead. Danny watched from the porch as his daughter got out of the car with his husband. He marveled at how much they were alike, despite the fact that they had no biological connection. It had also struck him that their human son, who they'd gotten through the normal adoption procedure, was a lot like his namesake. Danny smiled as the pair approached him, wrapping an arm around Derry's shoulder as the three entered the house together. "We're a family. We're here for each other," Derek said, closing the door.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Derek sat in the waiting room, slouching in the uncomfortable chair. He'd been sitting in there for hours, though it had felt like days. His eyes were bloodshot and his face drawn and dark. He'd been unable to cry for the past hour, like he'd done all of the crying that his body could manage. The room was empty; he'd sent his kids home a while ago. He knew that Derry had to catch a flight home soon, and he didn't want her to miss it. She'd protested, wanting to see her dad post-op. However, when he pointed out that she had to go to work, she consented, telling him to call her the second he walked out of the door, healthy and happy.

Jr. hadn't been so optimistic. For the first time in his life, he admitted to have pessimistic doubts about the future. It hurt Derek to see the effect the dangerous surgery was having on his son, so he sent him home. The boy had school in the morning, and Derek didn't want him to do poorly because of this. Now, sitting alone, Derek had nothing to do but run his hands nervously through his graying hair and think about the horrible possibilities.

Danny had always been very healthy. Their entire family took eating right and exercise very importantly. That's why the heart attack was so sudden and unexpected. When they'd arrived at the hospital, the doctors said that it was hereditary. Since then, Derek's entire existence seemed to be a constant tormenting hell. First, he had to fill out massive amounts of paperwork through his tears, trying to focus on Danny's social security number and his father's date of birth. It seemed ridiculous to him, that he should be filling out endless paperwork while his husband lay a few feet away, dying. Then, he asked to wait in the hospital room. They had allowed their children to go and wait in the room where Danny would be resting after the surgery, if it went well, but Derek hadn't been allowed in, since gay marriage wasn't legal in Arizona yet. He cursed himself for ever leaving California while he waved to his children from down the hall.

After a while, the kids came back, saying that the doctors said it would be a while until Danny came out. They decided to wait with their father, not wanting him to be alone. They sat in the waiting room together, reminiscing about the dying member of their family while they waited. They comforted one another until Derek sent the other two away.

Now he sat alone, pensively waiting. The agony of being kept in the dark was by far the worst part of the experience. He had no idea what was happening. Danny could be alone in his hospital bed right now, recovering. He could even be dead. To keep these thoughts at bay, Derek decided to reminisce about happier times.

He remembered the first night the pair had spent together in the newly renovated Hale house, before they'd become impromptu parents. They sat in front of the fireplace, holding hands and talking about their future. Both men agreed to never leave each other. They decided that neither of them was allowed to die until they decided together that it was time. It was really more of a morbid joke at the time, shared between two young lovers. Now, it seemed to have more weight. _You can't die, Danny. It isn't time yet. I won't let you,_ Derek yelled at the boy inside of his head. He remembered Danny's strength. Throughout their life together, he'd always been able to preserve in the worst situations. When the mother of the first baby that they'd applied for decided to keep her the child, he'd held Derek. Though Danny was hurting, too, he stayed strong for Derek. When their car broke down in the middle of the night on a roadtrip to see Danny's parents, Danny insisted that Derek stay with the kids while he walked ten miles in the dark along a highway in an unfamiliar state to get to a gas station. _Danny is stronger than this,_ Derek reminded himself. _There's no way he won't pull through._

Finally, after almost an entire day, a doctor came in. Derek stood, his bones stiff and his muscles sore. He looked pleadingly into the man's eyes. "I'm afraid I have some bad news," he said, looking at the ground.

Derek immediately sat down in the chair, sobbing. He knew what was coming next. "Your… uhm, friend, died on the table," the doctor said. Derek collapsed, his entire body shaking in sobs as he lay sprawled across the chair. "We were able to revive him, though. He was officially dead for forty-five seconds. He's very weak now, but he's insisting on seeing you."

Suddenly full of energy at hearing that the love of his life was still alive, Derek sprang up from the chair. "Where is he?" Derek asked, heading down the hall that he'd seen his kids go down.

The doctor stopped him with a firm hand to his chest. "I can't let you through," the old man said, looking down over his glasses. "Only family is allowed through."

"I'm his husband," Derek said, a hint of his wolf coming through as his eyes flashed.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you know the situation," the doctor said firmly.

Derek's fangs and claws began to extend in anger. In his head, he imagined swiping the doctor's head off with one quick motion. Suddenly, he heard Danny's voice in his head. _Calm down, Miguel_, it said, using the nickname that Danny called him. _That's not the way to deal with your problems._

The wolf took a deep breath, lowering his heart rate as his fangs and claws retracted. "Fine, what can I do?" Derek asked through gritted teeth.

"You can come back during visiting hours. They're from eleven a.m. to three p.m. every day," the doctor said coldly, before walking away to another part of the hospital, leaving the wolf alone again.

Derek glanced at a clock on the wall. It read 12:30. He'd have to wait nearly twelve hours to see his husband. Before he had a chance to react, he saw a nurse poke her head out of the room that he thought was Danny's. She looked nervously down the empty hallway, as if she was checking if it was empty.

Then, she backed out of the doorway, walking backward down the hall with a wheelchair. She stopped in front of Derek, looking nervous as she turned the chair around to face the man. Derek looked down at the crumpled figure in the wheelchair, who looked back up at him with loving brown eyes. The wolf breathed heavily as tears rolled down his face. "Danny?"

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Danny walked into the house, looking at the freshly vacuumed carpet. "Aw, you did this on your day off?" Danny asked, looking around the living room of the Hale house, which had been freshly cleaned.

"Of course! Did you forget? Danny and Derry are coming over," Derek called out from the kitchen, putting the last dish into the dishwasher. Danny followed his husband's voice, kissing him on the cheek from behind as the man washed the soap from his hands.

"That's right, I almost did forget," Danny said. "Did you pick up all of the stuff I needed from the grocery store? Oh, and I didn't have a chance to make the beds in the guest bedrooms, so we'll have to do that. And is Jr. still a vegetarian?"

Derek hushed the man with a finger to his lips, taking him by the hand and leading him out into the garden in the backyard. The people who'd owned the house while they lived in Arizona had fenced the area in, and the area had gotten slightly more urbanized in their absence. They stood, looking at the yard. There were a few trees and a picnic table right in the middle of the grassy area. Flowers bloomed along the fence and in the small beds, and a few green leaves poked out of the ground in the vegetable garden. Against the entire back wall of the fence, a long flowerbed extended out into the grassy area. The bed was filled with bluebells, the tiny blue flowers swaying delicately in the breeze. Both men reminisced about the times that they spent together, planting the new garden.

"Remember that night?" Derek said, hugging an arm around Danny's broad shoulders as they moved together across the grass. "When we first fell in love? And we sat in a field of bluebells, looking at the stars?" They sat at the edge of their own field of flowers, looking into each others' eyes. Derek flopped backwards so that he was lying in the bluebells. Danny laughed, joining him. Though their hair had grayed, and their skin was just barely beginning to wrinkle, the two men felt as young and vibrant as they had on that night when they'd first lied among the bright blue blossoms. "I love you," Derek said.

"Are you sure?" Danny said, repeating his words on that first night. Derek leaned over, smiling as he kissed the boy among the flowers. "I love you, too," Danny said as they parted. They watched the blue sky, a plane briefly passing overhead. "But we really do need to get ready for the kids."

Derek sat up, laughing at Danny's typical moment-ruining logic. "Okay, okay, fine. I'll set the table, and you can make the fire," Derek said, smiling warmly at the man that he loved.


	2. Tell Me Where It Hurts

Stiles embraced Scott in a hug, rubbing his back sympathetically. Giving in, Scott rested his head on his best friend's shoulder, trying not to cry. He wrapped an arm loosely around the boy's waist, embracing him. "It just sucks so much," Scott said.

"I know," Stiles said soothingly, "sometimes, relationships just don't work."

"I thought it would be different with Allison," Scott said, burying his face deeper into the crook of the boy's neck.

"Shh, I know, it'll be okay," Stiles said in a calm tone.

Scott ripped away from the boy, standing back from his warm embrace. He realized that someone might come down the deserted hallway and see them. "Sorry," Scott said, looking to the floor and rubbing his shoulder.

"It's fine," Stiles said. "You don't have to be afraid of showing affection."

"But, here?" Scott said, looking around.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Listen, dude, it's not a big deal. If anyone gives you crap, you can just go all wolfy on their ass," Stiles said, jokingly.

Scott smiled sadly. "Yeah," he said, blushing.

"Well, you know where I am if you need anything," Stiles said, patting his friend on the shoulder. "I'm here for you."

A small smile played on Scott's lips, happy to know that he wasn't alone. "Thanks," he said, looking into the boy's dark eyes.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Stiles awoke, once again in a cold sweat, feeling nervous. Lately, he'd been unable to wake up peacefully. Terrible nightmares plagued his dreams, but he couldn't remember anything about them when he woke up. He was just in a panic, afraid of something. By the time his feet hit the floor, any slight memory of the dream was gone, leaving only feelings of fear and alarm. It was these kinds of mornings that made Stiles dread going to school.

He worried about seeing Scott. Over the past few weeks, he'd helped his friend through his first break up. Somehow, this seemed easier than helping him through his first full moon as a werewolf. At least then, he knew that it would be over by sunrise. This seemingly endless depression made Stiles worry that he would never find the right time to tell his friend how he really feels. He was afraid of rejection, and was being careful not to be Scott's rebound. He didn't want to prey on the boy while he was vulnerable.

However, Scott's pain also hurt Stiles. It hurt him to hear his friend talk about how much he loved Allison, and how she was the only person he'd ever love, and how he couldn't live without her. These were all things that Stiles felt for Scott, so it hurt to see him in pain, but it also hurt to know that they were going through similar pain. Stiles, however, had to suffer in silence.

As each day began, though, Stiles told himself that this would be the day that he would tell Scott that he loved him. He would always get anxious and nervous, unsure of how the day would go. To calm himself down, he would walk himself through the day, imagining perfect conditions to tell Scott his feelings. Once the day actually started, however, it inevitably occurred differently from how he'd envisioned. This would always make him wimp out and put off telling Scott. He'd tell himself that he'd do it tomorrow. Tomorrow, he'd be in a perfect situation. As he showered, brushed his teeth, and dressed, Stiles wished he had a crystal ball, so that he could find the most opportune time to reveal his feelings to Scott.

As he drove off to school, Stiles realized that, for the first time, he'd spent the entire morning without going over a single scenario in which he told Scott he loved him. With no expectation for the day, Stiles found himself hoping that it was a sign that the timing was right. However, doubt began creeping its way into his subconscious as he drove. What if Scott didn't love him back? What if telling him messed up their entire friendship? What if Scott blamed him, and said that they could have been friends in blissful ignorance, but that Stiles ruined it?

Stiles pulled into his parking spot and banished these thoughts. He couldn't think about the possible outcomes, because there were too many to consider. He just had to focus on getting it out. He just had to say it. Blurt it out. It would be the first thing that he'd tell Scott. _Hey Scott, how are you? Oh, by the by, I love you so much that I can't think about anything else, and the only thing that I want from life is for you to love me back. _Yeah. That'd go over great.

Taking a deep breath, the boy picked up his backpack and got out of his car, heading towards the school. On the way, he saw Scott park his bike in a bike rack. His heart racing, Stiles caught up with his best friend. He mentally prepared himself, going in for the kill.

Scott turned around, a smile on his crooked jaw. "Oh, hey Stiles," he said casually.

"Hey Scott," Stiles said nervously.

"What's wrong?" Scott asked, his brow furrowing.

Stiles' heart began beating faster. Sweat began to bead on his forehead and down his back, and made his palms slick. His breathing got shallow as he prepared to jump off of the deep end. "I-uhm," Stiles stuttered, "Nothing. Nothing's wrong."

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"So what's been bothering you lately?" Stiles asked suddenly, sitting up on the couch.

Scott sat up as well. The two boys had been lying across from each other on a couch in Scott's living room, watching TV, when Stiles popped the question out of the blue. "What do you mean?" Scott asked.

"You've been acting all moody again lately. I thought you were pretty much over Allison, but you seem to have started again," Stiles said, playing therapist. He'd always been good at reading emotions, and, since his mother died, he'd always been good at listening to people's problems and helping them through tough times. This was especially true in regards to his best friend.

"It's just…" Scott's stomach dropped, and he decided it was finally time, "It's just that I think I love you."

Stiles' face lit up. After waiting for so long to tell Scott those exact words, he almost couldn't believe he was hearing them. For a moment, he thought that he was fantasizing again. It took him some time to realize that it had actually happened. "Wow, uhm, Scott. I… I love you too," Stiles said, his deep brown eyes looking into the other boy's.

"To be entirely honest, I kind of figured that," Scott said. "The problem is, I'm not sure if I'm ready to date. You know, I'm still getting over Allison, and I definitely don't want to go through that hurt again."

Stiles looked at the boy, feeling a kind of loss. "I wish that I'd known this earlier," Stiles said. "I mean, I wish you'd just told me that you loved me. I've kind of been going through an ordeal myself, you know."

"I figured you knew," Scott said densely.

"How am I supposed to know if you never told me?" Stiles asked. "How else am I supposed to know what you're thinking?" Stiles calmed himself, realizing that he was reacting badly to the news that Scott didn't think they could be together. "I'm sorry, it's just… disappointing."

"Yeah," Scott said, unsure of how to proceed. They settled back into the couch, their attention returning to the TV.

Stiles sat up again, his body tense and aggravated. "No," he said. "That's bullshit, Scott. There's disappointment everywhere. You're going to get disappointed, and you're going to get hurt. That's life. But you shouldn't run away from it. Then you'll never know happiness. If you don't take risks, you won't get hurt, but you won't get the good stuff either! What we have is special, and I won't give it up just so that we can stay in the safe middle ground."

Stiles looked at Scott, breathing heavily, his face red with anger. Scott looked at him, digesting the sudden outburst. His expression was blank as he processed, and Stiles sat on pins and needles as he waited for the boy to say something. Scott jumped up and planted a kiss on Stiles' mouth in response. Stiles' eyes widened at first, and then closed as he settled into the kiss. The two boys leaned back, lying together on the couch as they made out. Their hands explored one another's body, feeling the pleasure that they'd been denying themselves for so long.

"Ahem," they heard suddenly, Scott jumping off of the couch from on top of Stiles. Ms. McCall stood in the doorway of the house with a bag of groceries. "If you boys don't mind, I could use a hand."

Looking chagrined, the two looked and each other and smiled, both boys blushing furiously before going over to help Scott's mom.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"Are you sure about this?" Scott asked nervously, standing in front of the double doors that led into the school.

"Listen, Scott, we're going to have to do this eventually," Stiles said.

"I know. Maybe we could save it for another day… Or year," Scott said, shaking slightly.

"Look at me," Stiles said, turning his head to look at his lover. "It doesn't matter what they think. I love you. I know that you love me. That's more than enough."

Scott nodded his head. "You're right. It's just… scary."

"I know, but who cares what they think? If everyone hates you, I'll still love you," Stiles said, smiling with hopeful eyes. "I only care about what you think."

Scott nodded again. "Alright, I'm ready," he said nervously.

Stiles grabbed Scott's shaking fingers, intertwining them with his own as they entered the school as a couple for the first time. To Scott's surprise, few people stared, and even fewer people made any kind of remark. His confidence grew with each step that they took further into the building.

Scott greeted friend, smiling and waving as he proudly displayed his boyfriend on his arm. Stiles was happy to see his boyfriend's assurance grow. He could foresee a long and happy relationship for the two of them. Only a few people sneered at them, or gave them any kind of negative response. As Danny walked past, he smiled broadly, practically applauding them. Lydia gave them a smile, looking cold and calculating. Stiles summed that up as a good thing.

As they got to Scott's locker, the eager boy spun around to face his boyfriend. "Holy crap, that was fantastic!" he said, beaming as he unlocked his locker.

"Yeah, I was kind of surprised," Stiles said. "I think we both just built it up in our heads."

Scott took some books out of his locker, putting them into his backpack. "I don't think I've ever been so happy," he said, embarrassedly avoiding eye contact as he focused on his books.

Stiles waited until the boy looked into his eyes. "Me either," he said, smiling.

Suddenly, Scott slammed the boy up against the row of lockers, his arms on either side of him. Stiles could tell from the mischievous look in the wolf's eyes that he intended to kiss him in the middle of the hallway. "But, Scott, what about all of the people?" Stiles whispered, looking around. He had no problem with being out and proud, but he was worried that such intimate contact may be pushing it.

"To hell with everybody else," Scott said, his soft lips landing on the boy's.


	3. Lies

Jackson padded sleepily into Danny's bedroom, rubbing his eyes. Danny stood, watching the boy return from the bathroom. Early morning sun streamed through the window as Jackson got together some of his clothes. He'd spent the night, as he often did, and was now getting ready for the day as Danny watched him from the bed. He admired the boy's shirtless torso, his pale, lithe muscles flexing as he collected his things from the ground.

"I love you," Danny whispered.

His stomach dropped as Jackson turned around. "What?"

"Er, I-" Danny stuttered, embarrassed at having been caught revealing his true feelings.

Jackson sat on the edge of the bed, facing Danny. "Listen, I thought we talked about this," he said, almost exasperated. "What we do is just… for fun. I don't think I'd feel comfortable if you think it's anything more."

Danny sat up, avoiding eye contact with his friend. "I know," Danny said, sounding like a child caught breaking a rule. "You're right. Things are great how they are, so why change them?"

"You're still my best friend," Jackson said, ignoring the hint of bitterness in his best friend's voice. He left the room to get changed in the bathroom. Danny slumped over, resting his face in his hands. He breathed deeply, calming himself. Memories of the previous night flooded his head, the warm, passionate embraces of his friend making his heart ache. He knew that Jackson would never actually be able to admit that he had feelings for the boy, so he pushed the thoughts away, trying to set up barriers to keep himself from getting hurt. Once again, the question plagued his mind: If I love him, but he just wants sex, then is this really going to work?

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Danny watched Jackson from across the crowded shower room. Through the dense fog, he could make out the familiar shape of Jackson's toned body. He remembered the nights the two spent together, sharing their love for one another. Danny knew that he always loved Jackson, and on some of their nighttime rendezvous, he honestly believed that the boy loved him back. However, once the sun rose, their relationship vanished, and Danny was left feeling unrequited love from afar.

Occasionally, when he and Jackson drank together on their nighttime encounters, Jackson would let his guard down and tell Danny that he loved him. On those nights, he felt fulfilled, as if he was truly loved. These nights were the ones that made it impossible for him to get out of the toxic relationship. He felt like there was a chance that they could be happy.

As Jackson walked out of the showers, Danny realized that he was alone in the steamy room. He turned off the water, walking into the locker room. Jackson was the only player left in the room, toweling himself off after the long shower. He usually took longer than most to get finished after a game, since his hair took so long to do.

Danny took his place next to the boy, rubbing the towel over his body as he opened his locker next to Jackson's. "So, Lydia was telling me about this friend of hers," Jackson said, idly making conversation.

"Oh?" was Danny's reply, still brooding over his relationship with the boy.

"Yeah," Jackson said, pulling on a pair of green boxer-briefs. "He's really nice, apparently. He works at the animal shelter."

"Uh huh," Danny said, waiting for the point of the obvious lead-up as he put on his purple briefs.

"Apparently," Jackson said, sitting down to put on his jeans, "he just came out of the closet, like, a month ago."

"Huh," Danny said curtly, pulling his light green polo over his head.

Jackson paused for a moment as he put on his socks, trying to be tactful. "You know, Lydia said that she could really see the two of you together."

"Really?" Danny said, joining his friend on the bench as he put on his light-wash jeans.

"Yup," Jackson pulled on his shirt. "I've met him before. He seems really nice. And he's got a kind of surfer vibe going on."

Danny glanced over at his friend, whose face was turning red. He let out a deep, sharp exhale. "You don't have to do this," Danny said.

"Do what?" Jackson said, trying to sound innocent.

"Try to set me up," Danny replied sharply, knowing that Jackson already knew the answer.

"It's just… I just think that it's weird that you don't date more," Jacksons said awkwardly.

"I just haven't met the right guy yet," Danny lied, knowing that Jackson was the right guy; the only guy.

"Is it.. is it because of me?" Jackson asked, his whole face and chest burning red. "Is it because of… us?"

This was the first time Jackson had ever acknowledged their agreement outside of the bedroom. Danny thought about the years he'd spent pining for his best friend, wishing that they could be more than friends. He thought about all of the romantic stories that he read, and all of the sappy movies about loved that he'd watched. As the media slammed his brain with the need for a perfect love, Danny hated his single life more and more. He wanted to have the perfect relationships that he saw everywhere, and he fought to find one. Now that he was in a sort of relationship with the perfect guy, he realized that he may have been fighting in vain. However, he wasn't ready to admit that their agreement was tearing him apart inside. He wanted it to work, and more than anything, he didn't want it to end. "No," he said, putting on his shoes and shoving the rest of his things into his bag.

"Good," Jackson said, sounding unconvinced as he pulled his gray t-shirt over his head. Danny picked up his bag and left the locker room, waiting until he was outside to exhale.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Danny sat in the driveway, staring at the Whittemore house looming in front of him. Most of the windows were dark, and the only car in the garage was Jackson's. He looked back down at his phone, looking at the text. Jackson had sent it to him almost an hour ago, telling him in his usual manner that his parents were gone for the night, so they'd have the house to themselves.

Though he'd been in the same exact situation a thousand times, Danny's heart sank into is stomach as he thought about how the night would go. This time, he felt like he couldn't go through with it. He felt like it had gotten to be too much for him to handle; that he needed to either have an actual relationship with the boy or be done with him so that he could move on. But there he was in the driveway at Jackson's beck and call, like a yo-yo being cast away and then snapped back up.

He got out of the car and looked at his reflection in the car window. His gray jacket, purple shirt, dark-wash jeans, and well-groomed hair matched together perfectly, and he liked the way he looked. Yet, somehow, the dark, cloudy expression on his face made him look like he was being sent to his execution. He took a deep breath and put on a broad, false smile, trying to look happy. Somehow, the fake gesture only heightened his look of melancholy.

Using what little energy he had, Danny pushed away from the car and trudged to the door of the expensive house. He didn't bother knocking, since Jackson knew he was coming. When he walked in, he found Jackson sitting on the couch in a pair of orange boxer-briefs, half-asleep while watching TV. He peered over the back of the couch at the boy who'd just entered his house.

"Hey," he said, sitting up.

"Hey," Danny replied glumly, setting his bag down next to the stairs. He shuffled over to where Jackson was sitting and plopped down on the other end of the couch.

"Is something wrong?" Jackson asked, sliding over so that he was sitting right next to the boy. He wrapped a consoling arm around his friend, pressing his body against Danny's.

Danny tensed beneath his touch. "Nothing," he said passively, looking down at his shoes.

Jackson squeezed his arm around the boy's broad shoulders. "Come on, tell me what's wrong," he said.

Danny stood, releasing himself from the warm embrace of the boy that he loved. He spun around and stared down at Jackson's shocked face. Even through his anger, Danny's heart melted as he looked at the perfect boy. "Are you sure all of this is a good idea?" Danny said hurriedly, unsure of what he was doing.

"I mean, yeah," Jackson replied, looking like he'd just walked into an ambush. "It's a great plan. I mean, we both, you know… get off, but we don't have to put up with any of the other stuff."

"Really?" Danny said sharply, his face contorted with pain and anger. "I mean, is that really it? Because I've been getting some mixed signals. When we're at school or out in public, then we're a big secret, but when it's just the two of us, it feels like a lot more than just sex."

"I didn't know you felt this way," Jackson said, rubbing his naked shoulder. "I mean, it's just been fun for me."

"Are you sure?" Danny said, frustrated. "When it's just us, it's different. If it was just about sex, then why would you want to spend time together, talking and watching TV? Why not just get down to it, then leave?"

"We're friends, Danny. I do love you, but just as a friend," Jackson said, his lips quivering slightly.

"I think you're a coward," Danny said hotly. Jackson looked hurt by the word. "You know that there's more going on, but you won't say it because you're too scared of being judged, and of being rejected. If you tell yourself that it's just a bunch of fun, then if it goes badly, you can pretend that you're not being rejected. But that's bullshit. I need more than that. I know you tell yourself that you don't, but I think you're lying. And you can lie to me all you want, and you can lie to everyone else about us, but you can't keep telling yourself lies."

Jackson sat still for a long moment, stunned into silence. He digested everything that Danny was saying. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut, and had the wind knocked out of him. Was Danny wrong? Was he angry at Danny for jumping to such crazy conclusions? Or was he scared that he was being faced with the truth? Was it the truth? Thoughts buzzed in his head. The air in the room suddenly seemed cold as the two were thrust into honest conversation. "It was going so well," was all that Jackson could manage to mutter, more to himself than Danny.

Danny laughed cruelly, then regretted the overdramatic gesture. He softened, seeing that his words were having an impact on the shaken, nearly-naked boy. He sat, and put a warm hand on Jackson's back, trying to comfort him. Jackson sat with his elbows on his knees, and his head buried in his hands. He hated himself for hurting his friend. "It wasn't going well," Danny said soothingly. "We were just pretending. You know that we couldn't go on."

"But it could. We could keep going on forever. It doesn't have to end," Jackson said through his hands, grasping at straws.

"No," Danny said, trying to sound soft and loving, "it can't."

Jackson knew that Danny was right. He started to cry then, the wet tears smearing over his face and hands. Danny rubbed his friend's bare back, trying to make it easier for the boy that he loved. After a few minutes, Jackson's sobs stopped, and sat in silence, enjoying the warmth of Danny's body heat. He looked up, feeling cold as Danny stood up from the couch. He watched as the boy walked toward the door, picking up his bag. His puffy, red eyes searched for some way to keep Danny in his house. "Don't go," he said weakly, his voice cracking.

Danny froze with his hand on the door handle, his heart breaking. Hearing the boy that he loved call for him made him want to cry, and comply with whatever the boy said. Steeling himself, he opened the door. "I'm sorry," Danny said. "I'm just not the type that you like." Jackson watched helplessly as the door closed behind the boy.


	4. Bloody Mary

*This one is a little… artsy, as per the song. It has character death, too. So WARNING: character death and obsessed!Jackson. It gets intense…*

Jackson watched as Scott walked across the locker room, looking stressed. His heart broke at seeing the other boy so unhappy. Scott got to his locker, angrily removing his gear and dropping it into his locker. Jackson wondered what was making the boy he loved so upset, but didn't dare ask. His heart leapt into his throat as the boy removed his shirt, revealing his well-defined, tanned muscles. Trying not to watch his teammate undress, Jackson focused on taking off his own clothes, keeping his eyes on his locker. He only looked up when he heard the boy next to him moan in an aggravated manner.

He looked over to see Scott sitting on the little bench behind them, wearing only his jockstrap and knee-high socks, holding his hands against his head. Pulling the calendar up on his phone, Jackson saw that tonight was a full moon. After realizing that Scott was a werewolf, he marked down every full moon, so he would know when to stay away from the boy. He'd tried to get Derek to bite him so that he could join Scott, but had thus far been unsuccessful.

"What?" Scott said angrily, looking at Jackson. He realized that he'd been staring at Scott since he'd gotten lost in his thoughts.

"You're just so pathetic," Jackson said, trying desperately to hide the truth. He'd managed to get used to covering his lust with anger, so now it looked natural. He sneered. "You've got your powers, but you still can't man up to deal with your problems."

Scott shook his head, avoiding an altercation to keep his anger under check. Jackson held back tears as he took off his shoes. He hated being mean to Scott, but he couldn't cope with his feelings any other way. He'd been doing it for so long that he was unsure if he'd ever be able to stop. Inside, he knew that he would get on bended knee in an instant to give praise to the master of his heart. Outside, however, Jackson maintained a cool distance.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Now that the full moon had been over for a few weeks, Jackson felt it was safe to watch Scott again. He scaled the familiar tree, watching through his aloof lover's window. Looking at his watch, he noted that Scott was running late. Usually, he'd be in his room by now to do homework. Staring intently at the empty room, Jackson waited.

He looked around at the scattering of Scott's things. The boy had left some of his clothes on the floor, and hadn't made his bed today. Otherwise, the little room looked the same as it usually did. He imagined himself, lying naked on the bed with his arms stretched out over his head, waiting for Scott. Seeing himself in the room, Jackson imagined being completely vulnerable, unable to keep up the charade any longer. Scott would walk in and see his exposed body, realizing that the boy worshipped him. Together, they would do the ritual dance, sealing their love for one another. Jackson imagined Scott holding the boy's hands against the headboard as he gyrated against him, taking him inside of his body, becoming one.

This dream was banished as Scott entered his bedroom. Jackson watched as he went over to his computer, lazily plopping down in front of his desk and opening the machine. The screen came to life, illuminating Scott's beautiful face in harsh blue light. Jackson was unhappy that he couldn't see the screen of the computer, but was still perfectly content to watch the boy. For nearly two hours, Jackson sat motionless, watching the boy click and type. After a short while, Scott took a book from his backpack and started to do homework on the computer. Finally, he leaned back in his chair, resting the palms of his hands on his eyes. He shut the laptop, rubbing his eye with one hand, and moved across the room.

He approached the window through which he was being watched, and opened it. Jackson completely froze, not even breathing. Suddenly, he imagined being caught. No amount of sarcasm or superiority could get him out of this situation. Scott ducked his head through the window, breathing in the fresh air. Just before his eyes landed on Jackson, he turned around. His mom had come into the room.

As the boy ducked back through the window, Jackson exhaled. He was vaguely able to make out the conversation. The only thing that he could clearly hear was that Ms. McCall had asked Scott to take out the trash. Slipping on a pair of flip flops, the boy trudged dutifully out of the room.

Jackson realized that an opportunity stood before him. This was certainly an opportunity that he would never have again. He imagined himself slipping into the room. Before his imagination could carry on with the scenario, his body took action. Climbing across a thick branch, Jackson made his way to the window, jumping across to the sill. It wasn't a far jump, and by no means dangerous. He wiggled through the window, stealthily landing on Scott's floor.

Creeping through the room, Jackson touched every object that he passed, hoping to leave his scent so that Scott would think of him. He picked up a pair of dirty underwear from the floor, breathing in the heady aroma of Scott's sweat and manhood. His body shivered as the scent filled his head. Carefully replacing the underwear to the exact location where he'd found it, Jackson crept into the closet, observing Scott's clothes. He carefully went through every piece of clothing, trying to memorize it so that he could remember this moment when he saw the boy wearing them in school.

He did two quick pull ups on the bar in the doorway before proceeding to Scott's bathroom. His brain sparked images of Scott: brushing his teeth, showering, peeing, putting on deodorant. Somehow, when the object of his obsession did these mundane activities, they seemed significantly more exciting. He picked up Scott's toothbrush, bringing the bristles to his lips. Kissing the brush, he tried to keep in mind the fact that this had actually been in Scott's mouth. He imagined kissing the boy, then put the article back where he'd found it. He looked at Scott's shower, imaging the boy standing naked and wet in the small cubicle. Picking up his deodorant, Jackson sniffed the scent, smelling Scott.

Suddenly, he heard stirring from outside of the door. Slipping the stick into his pocket, he rushed out of the window, amazing himself with his speed and agility as he climbed the tree. As his adrenaline rush began to die down, Scott returned to his room. He sniffed the air, knowing something was amiss. Jackson knew that the boy was smelling him. The idea of his scent being in Scott's nose made him almost giddy. However, he heart sank as the boy neared the window. He saw what Scott was looking at before the boy even approached it: there was a nail sticking out of the window sill. Jackson's fresh blood coated the metal, smearing onto everything that he'd touched as he made his way through the room. Looking at his palm, he saw a thin trickle of blood coming from the heel of his hand.

With renewed energy, Jackson scaled down the tree, running down the street to where he'd parked his car. As he ran, he nearly started jumping with joy. There was a permanent, intimate part of his DNA in Scott's room now.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Sitting in the cafeteria, Jackson imagined himself jumping up on the table in front of Scott. He imagined himself turning into stone as the beautiful eyes gazed upon him, his flesh made from perfect marble so that he could be good enough for the boy. He imagined himself as a greek statue, but with a beating heart exposed. The red organ would pulse, and Scott would finally notice him, knowing that the exposed heart beat for him. He would recognize the red blood flowing down Jackson's stony white skin, having seen it in his room. Finally, Scott would understand.

This artistic thought was shattered as Scott looked at him, once again noticing the boy staring at him. "You have something on your face," Jackson said, rubbing the side of his mouth in indication that Scott had something on the side of his mouth. Scott brought his hand to his face, trying to rub the food off. "Oh, sorry McCall. I didn't realize that that's how it's supposed to look."

Scott rolled his eyes, returning his attention to his food. Jackson silently beat himself up, hating that he would ever suggest that Scott's face was anything less than perfect. For the rest of the day, he imagined himself alone on a mountain, braving the freezing conditions and wilderness to atone for his criticism of something so perfect.

Jackson sat beneath the bleachers, watching Scott as he stood on the field. He knew that Scott was waiting for someone, but he hadn't managed to figure out who was supposed to meet him. After what seemed like a long time, Chris Argent stepped onto the field. He walked up to Scott, seeming serious.

Scott seemed angry with Chris, but the man kept his cool, seeming to give flippant replies and dismissing the boy with his body language. Jackson couldn't hear anything that they were saying, but he figured that it had something to do with the fact that Scott was a werewolf and Argent was a hunter. He figured that drama often arose from this situation.

Trying to hear the conversation, he quietly crept down the bleachers. He could barely see through the slots in the metal. Reaching the end, he was still not quite close enough to make out any words. He could only hear intonation and mumbling. Scott was growling angrily, and Chris sounded lighthearted. Occasionally, Argent would slip into a threatening tone. Jackson watched Scott's body heave as his angry breathing grew more severe. He watched as the beautiful shoulders rose and fell. Looking around, Jackson was unable to find any clear spot where he could move closer to the pair.

At the edge of the lacrosse field, something gleamed beneath the high-power lights. Looking more closely, Jackson noticed that it was a wristwatch. A pair of disembodied hands was floating at the edge of the field, the owner of the arms hidden in the shadows beyond. The arms brought something new into the pool of light: a bow. The point of the arrow was aimed at Scott. Jackson realized that the boy he loved had walked into an ambush.

Watching the arms, Jackson saw the arrow pull back, readying for the kill. Jackson's heart jumped into his throat as his breathing sped up. He tried to imagine Scott dying. The image couldn't even focus in his mind. Scott dead? It couldn't happen, especially not before he knew that Jackson's blood pumped only for him.

The arrow seemed to fly in slow motion, moving across the field languidly. It approached Scott at a leisurely pace, the boy still totally oblivious. The field seemed to change somehow as the arrow flew through the air. Jackson suddenly realized that the field wasn't moving, but he was. He sailed through the air, having jumped at some point without the action even registering in his brain. The arrow hit him in the chest, sharply piercing his skin and flesh.

Lying on the ground, he saw Scott turn around and register his presence. Argent seemed distraught as he made signals for the archer to leave. "What a pity," Chris said, looking down at the boy. "That stone arrowhead wasn't easy to come by. It had fragments of wolf's bane in it."

The man walked away, leaving the boy to die with Scott. Jackson looked up at his hero, who stood above him looking confused and dismayed. A smile crossed the dying boy's face; he was okay with being a martyr, taking a bullet so the usurper couldn't dethrone his king. Jackson touched the arrow sticking out of his chest, now realizing the true gravity of the situation. Scott knelt beside the boy wordlessly, panicking.

"Should I call the police? What are you doing here? Where did you come from? Who was that?" questions began pouring from Scott's mouth. Jackson raised a finger to the boy's mouth, his own face peaceful.

As he withdrew his hand, a stain of blood remained across Scott's lips. Tears welled in his eyes as he realized that he would never get to love Scott, now that he was dying. He pushed them back, not wanting to cry now. He would not cry for Scott, nor would he cry in front of him. His deranged brain grew even more delusional as he lost blood. Scott lied his head down on the boy's chest, listening for a heartbeat. When he brought his head back up, his face was now covered in the boy's blood.

Jackson smiled, happy that his life force was spilling onto his idol. Scott took out his phone, calling the police. Jackson could no longer hear anything, though. He rested his head, looking up at the stars. He raised his hands above his head, remembering his fantasy of Scott finding him naked and exposed with his hands above his head. His skin turned pale as his blood flowed from him. The red blood pulsated from his chest, and Jackson realized that he must look like the statue that'd he'd imagined, with his exposed heart beating for Scott' blood dripping down his ivory marble skin. Again, tears pushed at his eyes. As he died, his defenses were low, but he still fought them back. "I won't cry for you," he said as Scott sobbed over his body. His body was still, and the blood stopped flowing from his chest, turning cold.


	5. Video Games

Scott walked idly through the park, watching the sun turn the world red as it crawled slowly behind the shadows of the trees beyond. He pulled the purple sleeves of his hoodie down, hugging his arms to his broad chest as a chilly breeze swept across the deserted park. The dead grass crunched under his red sneakers as he made his way to the swings.

Sitting on one of the black seats, Scott surveyed the park thoughtfully. He saw a slide, a rusty jungle gym, and the asphalt of the parking lot. He knew that his bike was in this parking lot, now broken and muddy. He subconsciously picked at the dirt caking his jeans as he thought about the crash he'd endured earlier. While riding his bike down the road, a car swerved right in front of him, making him lose control and crash into a muddy ditch. He dragged his bike up and discovered the little park that he'd crashed in front of. Seeing his breath cloud in front of him, Scott was not looking forward to walking home in the cold autumn night.

A chainlink fence loomed behind him, excluding parkgoers from the tennis court. In front of him, the silhouetted limbs of the trees interlaced one another, looking stark against the red background of the setting sun. Scott started idly swinging, moving back and forth as he thought about life.

A sudden screech interrupted his train of thought as a fast car pulled into the little parking lot, skidding to a halt. Scott looked up at the gray Camaro that had stopped suddenly, intruding on his little world. The driver's side door opened, and Derek Hale stood, looking at Scott over the roof of his car. "Need a lift?" he said, his eyes flickering to the broken bicycle. His words made hot little puffs of breath in the air. Scott smiled, standing up from the swing.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Scott closed the thick textbook, leaning his head back against the headboard of his bed. Stressed seem to weigh down upon his body as he tried to retain the information in his head. He knew the information, but no matter how hard he studied, Scott never felt prepared to take an economics test. He knew that the Coach liked him, and that there was almost no chance that he'd fail, since he was on the lacrosse team. Furthermore, he knew that he'd made an A on every test so far. Regardless, Scott still felt insecure about his abilities.

He threw the book onto the floor, and it skidded across the carpet with an angry hiss. Rubbing his eyes, Scott sat up straight on his bed. He turned around so that his legs hung from the edge of the bed, slouching as the weight of the world pressed down upon his shoulders. _I just need some rest_, Scott thought to himself, standing. He kicked off his socks and dropped his jeans, throwing them in the general direction of his hamper. Stripping off his t-shirt, Scott searched through his dresser for a pair of pajama bottoms. Suddenly, the boy felt exposed in his tight blue briefs. He turned his attention from his dresser to the window directly to his left. The glare from his lamp made it nearly impossible to see into the inky darkness outside. He crept closer, opening the window.

The cold air hit his bare skin, making him shiver as goosebumps rose from his arms and chest. Leaning down, he stuck his head through the window. His street looked relatively normal, with rows of houses lining the black road as it cut through the green lawns. Squinting his eyes, Scott finally managed to see the man running down the street, attempting to dodge the glow cast by the street lamps. Looking to the old tree that grew right in front of his room, Scott noticed a few branches were broken, as if someone had been sitting on the limb in front of his window. From the branch closest to his window, Scott saw a little piece of paper impaled around the branch. He took the note inside, and read the letters written in black marker: YOU ARE GOING TO DO FINE.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Scott took off his shoulder pads, languidly removing his lacrosse uniform as most of the other players filed out of the locker room. The mood was festive as everyone ran around, congratulating each other. They had won the game by a large margin, and everyone recognized what a feat this was. Scott, however, couldn't help but feel depressed. The happiness around him only deepened his depression, giving him a standard against which to compare.

His mom hadn't shown up at the game. In fact, the few times he looked out into the crowd, he was pretty sure that he didn't know anybody sitting on the bleachers. He tried to feel proud of the fact that they'd won, or of the fact that he'd played an exceptionally good game. However, knowing that nobody had seen these accomplishments only made Scott feel worse. His teammates had all rushed the bleachers after winning, meeting up with friends and family. Now, they were all going to go out with their loved ones to celebrate. Scott, however, would drive home alone and go to bed.

His mom was gone for a week, and none of his teammates had invited him out. Steeling himself, Scott stripped and went into the steamy showers. Only once the water was on his face did he allow himself to cry, even then trying to mask his tears for the benefit of the others in the shower. Even Stiles had ignored him, being one of the first ones to leave the locker room.

These thoughts of solitude continued to press upon Scott as he dried himself and got dressed in his clothes. The last one out of the locker room, he shut the light off behind him, locking the door. He turned toward the parking lot, heaving a big sigh. The breath hung in the air in front of him, visible in the chilly night air. Trying to cheer himself up, Scott considered going to Pete's, where he knew most of his friends would be celebrating. He knew that he could play pool or darts until someone he knew struck up a conversation. Somehow, going alone and trying to find someone to talk to seemed even more depressing than being alone.

He stood at the door of his car, looking at his reflection in the window. His doughy brown eyes were somewhat bloodshot, and his short hair was still wet and messy. Though his complexion didn't seem to show the tears that he was holding back, his drawn expression betrayed his emotions. Leaning closer to the window, Scott's breath condensed over his face, blurring the vision. He drew a smile over his face in the condensation, trying to convince himself that it wasn't so bad.

Finally, the boy opened the door and slumped into the driver's seat, turning the car on and turning the heat up high. "That was a good game," a voice said from the back seat.

Scott jumped, preparing to get out of the car. He looked behind him to see Derek's pale face shining in the darkness of his backseat. Scott took a deep breath, allowing his pulse to return to a normal beat. Derek climbed into the front seat, facing the boy. Scott registered the wolf's comment, realizing that he'd watched him during the game. The ice around his heart immediately melted. "Anyway," Derek said coolly, "let's go. You still owe me a ride."

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

As they lie side by side, staring up at the night sky, Scott and Derek both had a similar look on their faces. It wasn't quite giddy happiness, but more of a content look of comfort. Scott sat up on the hood of the Camaro, looking around at the velvet darkness of the surrounding woods. "It seems so empty," he said, drawing his knees up to his chest. "It's like were in our own world."

"Well, if you're here, then it's heaven," Derek said, drawing one knee up.

Lying back down, Scott could smell the cologne that Derek wore. He wasn't entirely sure if it was cologne, or if that was just how Derek smelled. Either way, the scent assaulted his brain, filling his head with memories of leather jackets and kisses covered in scratchy stubble. He shivered at the sudden influx of memories.

Derek sat up now pulling Scott onto his lap and wrapping his arms around him. Lying in his arms, Scott looked up to see the stars above him. Derek leaned over, his face obscuring his view of the night sky. "You know," he said, looking down at the boy, "everything that I do is for you."

Scott, shocked by the sudden intensity, sat up. "What?" he asked, unsure of where his lover was going.

"I mean, I just want to make you happy," Derek said, looking confused. Scott understood this look to mean that he was having trouble putting his thoughts into words.

"You don't have to," Scott said, suddenly feeling ungrateful for all that Derek had done. "Just being with me is enough."

"I know," Derek replied quickly. "But I feel selfish. You make me so happy, and I want to repay you. It feels like my life means something now, like it's worth living. Now that it's the two of us, I'm whole."

"I guess," Scott said, aloof.

As they sat there on the hood of the Camaro, Scott looked up at the stars, thinking about various other things. Derek thought only of Scott. He studied the curves of his face in the moonlight, the boy totally oblivious to his worshipper. Lying back down, Derek knew that the boy that he loved would probably never return the intensity of his feelings. He smiled, thinking that just being there with him was enough. Though he may never be fulfilled, he was just happy to help Scott feel fulfilled. He wondered if, before they knew each other, Scott ever felt lonely, like he needed to have someone that loved him. "Well, baby, now you do," Derek mumbled, smiling as he watched his distant lover gaze at the stars.


	6. Where Does The Good Go

Stiles was ready to give up. As he idly tossed a lacrosse ball in the air, lying on his bed, he decided that giving up would be the best course of action. He'd been pursuing Derek for months now. It even felt like years. Every day, when he saw the Alpha, his heart broke again. The two of them ran into one another quite frequently, since he rarely left Scott's side. Derek had a funny way of mysteriously appearing out of nowhere. At first, Stiles had just been attracted to the man. He'd figured that it was simply a normal reaction to an attractive guy. However, the more he saw him, and the more he got to know the angsty wolf, the deeper in love he fell.

Occasionally, he saw Derek when he wasn't with Scott. These occurrences began happening more frequently. Without the buffer of his best friend, Stiles usually felt even worse when they parted ways. All of the perfect man's attention was focused on Stiles, and the boy couldn't look away or leave. When it was just the two of them, Stiles had to face his feelings and, worse yet, face Derek's lack of feelings for him. Admittedly, he let his mind wander to the possibility that the man had begun to see him one-on-one more often now because he returned Stiles' feelings. Those sorts of impossibilities hurt Stiles even more.

Catching the ball, Stiles nodded. He would just stop talking to Derek, and leave him alone. If he had to face the man, he would put up walls. That way, he wouldn't constantly get hurt by knowing that the wolf could never love him. He knew that Derek was straight, and he knew that Derek was way out of his league. Either way, there was no chance of him reciprocating Stiles' love.

The boy closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose, trying to exhale all of his feelings for Derek, purging himself of the man. "Fuck Derek," he mumbled to himself, opening his eyes. Ridding himself of all thoughts of Derek Hale, he focused on tossing the ball and catching it. Watching the white ball fly up and land in his hands was almost mesmerizing. His trance was broken as the ball hit the ceiling, falling onto the floor and rolling away. Closing his eyes again, Stiles tried to remember the good things in his life. Trying to calm himself, he almost started to drift off to sleep.

He was abruptly awoken by the lacrosse ball falling back into his hands. He opened his eyes and sat up, confused. Derek Hale was standing over him, smirking. Stiles' face burned. The man had never come into his room unannounced before, so Stiles found intimate moment that he caught of him in his pajamas on his bed whilst daydreaming to be intrusive. Derek seemed to enjoy that he'd caught the boy with his guard down. "What are you doing here?" Stiles said, protectively crossing his arms.

Derek walked over to the chair in front of his desk, sitting down. Stiles couldn't get over how out of place he looked in the familiar location. "I just thought I'd visit," he said, smiling broadly.

Stiles was suspicious. Furthermore, he found himself bitterly wondering how Derek Hale could go through his life being happy and smiling, while Stiles obsessed over him constantly, his heart breaking every time the man came into his mind. He hated that he didn't feel good enough for Derek. "You're visiting me in my room in the middle of the night? Is that some kind of wolf thing, or are you just a fan of breaking and entering?" Stiles quipped. Derek looked at a digital clock on Stiles' nightstand, and the boy blushed as he realized that it was only 8:30. "Well, either way, how did you even get in?"

"Your window was open, and I could smell you," Derek said, looking over at the opening through which he'd climbed. Stiles looked to the floor, oddly aroused by the fact that Derek had smelled him.

"Could you just tell me what you want and go? 'Cause I don't like having stray dogs in my room, and I don't want you shedding all over the furniture," Stiles said, leaning his back against the wall behind him.

"I really was just in the neighborhood, passing by," Derek said sincerely. Stiles eyed him suspiciously. "What made me stop was when I smelled you."

Stiles blushed even more deeply, his facing feeling noticeably hotter. His heart skipped a beat, knowing that Derek had stopped to smell him. "Right, well you've had your chance to stop and smell the roses, so can you leave now?" Stiles asked.

"It's just that when I smelled you, there was a certain scent of… attraction," he said, spinning back and forth in the desk chair. Stiles' face began to burn furiously. "And then I heard you say something. I believe it was 'Fuck, Derek.'"

Stiles realized that the man had misinterpreted his exclamation, believing it to be an exasperated cry of attraction, and not a curse. "Yeah, as in 'Fuck you, Derek,'" Stiles clarified.

Derek stood up, casually pacing around the room. "I don't know. I've seen the way you look at me. I can smell what you're thinking. And everybody can tell that you're totally dopey and in love," Derek said, putting his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket as he walked slowly around the room.

Completely unsure of what he was doing, Stiles stood. A sudden and completely random urge overtook his body; a sort of overdrive brought on by too much embarrassment and an overwrought heart. He moved right in front of Derek, so that their chests were pressing together, and they were almost face-to-face. His eyes drank in the perfectly cut face as his head swam in a sudden rush of adrenaline. "So? Are you gonna do something about it?" Stiles asked, suddenly feeling like someone other than himself.

The unexpected reaction caught Derek totally off guard. He took his hands out of his pockets, rubbing the back of his neck. His face betrayed his shock, and he stuttered as he spoke. "I- uh, I'm not t-totally sure," Derek breathed.

Their eyes locked, Stiles set a defiant look on his face. "Tell me that _you_ don't find _me _attractive," Stiles said, his sudden rush of confidence making him far bolder than he'd ever even imagined. Suddenly, he realized that Derek may tell him that he's been right all along, and that he felt no attraction toward the boy. As quickly as it had come, his confidence drained from his body, the familiar fear of rejection and heartache taking its place.

Derek noticed the sudden change in Stiles' face. Seeing him look so vulnerable made his heart break, though he liked seeing the Stiles he knew return. "I- I can't," he said, turning away melodramatically. He tried to make the gesture seem convincing for Stiles' sake. "I… I do." His face was now earnest, showing the love that he felt for the boy.

Stiles took a step back, unable to believe what he'd just heard. "Holy crap, are you serious? _You_ find _me_ attractive? Wow, I kind of can't believe that. I mean, I can believe it, I just don't… believe it. I mean, you're so…. you. You've got the whole you thing down. It's very… you-like," Stiles stammered, ashamedly looking up at Derek's face after the awkward ramble. Derek looked down lovingly at the boy. He smiled adoringly, leaning in to seal their first kiss together.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Stiles smiled, hearing the familiar sounds of Derek coming to his window. He'd gotten rather used to the man climbing into his window for a late-night rendezvous. This time, he sounded a bit more sluggish, though. Stiles figured that he was tired, since they hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. They'd stayed up later than intended, watching Torchwood on Stiles' computer.

His big goofy grin disappeared as the boy spun around to face his window. Derek's face was more pale than usual, and he was clutching his stomach. "Derek, are you okay?" he asked, standing up and making his way over to where the man was perched on his window sill. As he reached the window, Derek fell backwards, nearly plummeting to the earth two stories below. Stiles grabbed him by the shoulders of his leather jacket just in time, heaving the man through the window and onto his floor.

His beautiful eyes looked weak and dazed. Stiles kneeled on the floor next to the man, tears pushing against his eyes as his heart raced. "Derek! What's wrong? Talk to me!" he screamed, grabbing the man's chiseled jaw.

"I- Argent shot me," Derek whispered weakly, taking his hand away from the wound to reveal a bloody hole in his t-shirt. A slight puff of red smoke arose from the wound as blood seeped through the dark blue t-shirt.

Stiles recognized the symptoms; Derek had been shot with a wolf's bane bullet. Last time, however, he'd been much luckier, having caught the bullet in his arm. This time, the bullet was lodged on the right side of his abs. Stiles gently lifted the man's shirt up, unsure of what to do. "Do I need to find more of the bane? Like last time?" Stiles said, starting to cry.

Derek responded with a moan. Stiles wasn't sure how much longer the love of his life could hold on. Would he be able to sneak into Chris Argent's house and steal a bullet fast enough? Could he leave the man that he loved lying on his bedroom floor, bleeding to death? He began to think frantically of other options.

He suddenly felt like he could breathe again as an idea struck him. Taking out his cell phone, he hit the number for his father at the police station. "Hello, Dad? It's Stiles. No, listen, I can't talk, I really need a favor, and I need you to do it without asking questions. You know all of that stuff of Kate Argent's that you guys have in evidence? I need you to bring me one of the bullets from the wooden box. I know it's illegal and immoral and I'll go to jail for life for this, but it's a matter of life and death, Dad. I need it right now, I'm at home," Stiles said, surprised at his clarity and composure. He hung up before his dad could respond, further impressing the importance of the situation.

Moving back to Derek's side, he began to cry again. He decided to talk to the man, trying to keep him conscious and alive. "Listen, Derek, I need you. I know it's gonna be hard right now, but I need you to fight. Even if there's poison going through your veins, it can't get to your heart. I'm in there, and I'm going to keep all of the poison away, okay? I need you to stay alive, because I don't think I can take another death. I don't think I can have everyone I love ripped away from me. I can't bare it. I'll rip the bullet out with my teeth if I have to, you're not going to die. Look at me," he grabbed the man's face, pulling his own close to it. Their eyes locked intensely. "You're going to make it. You're going to get through this, and you're going to be happy, and healthy, and strong, and calm, and everything else that you've always been. Just, look at me. I need you to tell me something. I need you to tell me that you won't go."

Stiles broke down into quiet sobs, no longer able to try and keep the man's brain sharp. "I won't go," Derek said, the strength in his voice surprising both of them. Stiles rested a hand on the man's chest.

"You won't. That's right. You're staying right here. You're going to be fine, and we're going to look back on this and smile," Stiles said, smiling through his tears. His door burst open suddenly, and Sheriff Stilinski was in the doorway, looking panicked.

"Stiles, you've got to tell me what the hell is going on," he said, his face and neck red. He noticed the dying man on his floor. "What the hell is Derek Hale doing here? Why do you need a bullet?"

Spotting the bullet in his dad's hand, he ripped the metal from his digits. "Later, Dad," Stiles said, sniffling as he broke the bullet open to reveal the Blue Monkshood. Gathering the herb in a small pile in the palm of his hand, he grabbed the lighter from his dad's shirt pocket, and lit the wolf's bane beneath Derek's nose.

For a moment, Stiles was unsure if it had any effect. The man continued to lay unconscious and bleeding. He feared that he'd been too late. Suddenly, the man gasped for breath, his eyes widening and his body jolting. The wound healed over, leaving only a bloody mess on the man's abs. Still crying, Stiles hugged him, wrapping his entire body around Derek's on the floor. "I won't let go," Derek said, wrapping his arms around Stiles' waist.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Stiles and Derek sat on the roof just outside of Stiles' window, taking in the gentle spring evening. The sky was a rusty yellow, and the two men were watching the woods as they hugged each other on the roof tiles, smiling and enjoying each other's company. Derek had snuck into Stiles' room, and the two of them had come outside to watch the sunset.

Derek lifted his head slightly, his eyes distant. "Your dad is home," he said, laying his head back down on Stiles' shoulder.

"Whatever," Stiles said, smiling sleepily.

"You know he's gonna be upset if he finds us out here. He did ask me to use the front door," Derek said chidingly.

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," Stiles said, quietly shutting the window behind them with one arm, the other wrapped around Derek's broad, leather-clad shoulders.

The sun began to sink lower, turning a deep red as it touched the roofs of the suburban homes. "I feel like I've been waiting for this moment since the day I saw you with Scott in the woods," Derek mumbled softly.

Stiles smiled. "I know what you mean," he said, wrapping his arm more tightly around his lover. "Promise me that there's no love like our love."

"I can't think of any other gay human werewolf couples off the top of my head, but if I find one I'll tell you," Derek said, chuckling to himself.

Stiles tried to keep his shoulder from bouncing Derek's head as he laughed. "I think I'm starting to rub off on you," Stiles said, smiling.

Hearing Sheriff Stilinski approach Stiles' door, Derek lifted his head off of his lover's shoulder. "I love you," he breathed, kissing the pale boy's flushed cheek.

Stiles felt cold as Derek jumped from the roof. He watched the figure disappear, hearing his Dad call his name from inside. As he stood, he smiled, thinking of the next time he'd get to see Derek. Knowing that they'd be together soon was enough to make him feel content.


End file.
